


Seeing Red

by Thirdeyeblinkings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: H/D Owlpost Holiday Fest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 04:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirdeyeblinkings/pseuds/Thirdeyeblinkings
Summary: Fashion fades, style is eternal (and denial is not just a river in Egypt).  OR, I found some photos of hot guys in red coats while doing some online Christmas shopping and decided to write a drarry fic about them. Enjoy!





	Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunas_Lore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunas_Lore/gifts).



> For @lunas_lore. This bit of fun was loosely inspired by your prompt line: “You make me want to be a better man.” I hope you like it! <3
> 
> Tip: text follows each photo, so make sure you scroll all the way down to read all the way to the end!

 

 

Harry arrives at the ministry with a spring in his step. It's December First, one of his favourite days of the year. Every December First, the Ministry has all the offices filled with floating snowflakes and mild cooling charms, and has it decorated in all manner of sparkly holiday cheer. And on this day, everyone comes dressed in their winter best, wearing either all green or all red.    
  
It all seemed rather silly to him when he first started, but he looks forward to it a little more each year. It's nice to see everyone participate in something frivolous as the weather turns colder and the days shorter.    
  
And then there's the thing he looks forward to most: seeing what Malfoy does with green. Last year, Malfoy arrived in an emerald dragonhide jacket, calf-length, with perfectly tailored evergreen trousers and sage riding boots. The button down shirt underneath was a barely there shade of lime, open at the collar. It was a sight to behold.   
  
And while Malfoy is a snobbish prat, Harry has long come to terms with the fact that he's a bloody gorgeous snobbish prat.    
  
And if Malfoy's going to go through all the trouble of dressing like he's on a catwalk every damn day, the least Harry can do is take notice. He's hardly alone in that, he knows, though no one will admit it out loud. He sees them staring, too. Men, women, even the portraits lining the walls. How could they not? Draco Malfoy is an objectively beautiful human being.    
  
Malfoy does not appear to feel the same way about him, though, not that Harry can blame him. Where Malfoy is caviar, he's fish and chips. And he's mostly alright with that. Mostly.    
  
Malfoy never fails to make some derisive comment on what Harry chooses to wear on December first. "Another ghastly jumper and corduroy ensemble, Potter? Really classed it up this year, didn't you?"   
  
And Harry never fails to respond with some variation of "Some of us are here to work, Malfoy, not sashay down a runway." And if he's lucky, Draco will sashay right to his desk without breaking eye contact, just to take the piss.   
  
It's a comfortable tradition.   
  
And Malfoy's right about him, really. He tends towards quantity over quality for things like this. If he's going to wear red, he'll wear as many red things as possible, regardless of shades or textures or whatever other nonsense Malfoy probably spends hours in front of the mirror fussing over. Not caring is a point of pride for Harry. So he will don a red jumper, red t-shirt, red trousers, red scarf, red hat, even red socks and boots. And if the orange red of his scarf clashes with the mulberry red of his jumper, so be it. That's the true spirit of things after all. If you plan a perfectly elegant outfit with precisely arranged complimentary shades, are you really being festive, or just showing off?   
  
Just once, though, Harry would like to give Malfoy a run for his galleons. Just once, he'd like to wipe the smug smile off his face and replace it with something resembling . . . surprise? Appreciation? Anyway, that's not important. He just wants to get the better of him by beating him at his own game.     
  
So, last week he enlisted the help of Lavender Brown, arguably the most fashionable witch in London.   
  
She'd taken him to Pretisoa Faire, the luxury department store he'd never even he walked by, let alone shopped in. It's much too posh for his taste.     
  
And yet, there is the odd day when he allows himself something out of the ordinary. He can rationalize the occasional splurge. And if it makes Draco Malfoy sit up and take notice, all the better.    
  
Lavender suggested he find a particular piece that they could build an entire look around. He needed what she termed a "wow factor" item.   
  
He'd known the moment he saw it draped over a mannequin in the window that it was perfect: a fire engine red, cashmere, double breasted pea coat. (He hadn't known all those fancy words about it of course, but he made a point of remembering when he heard Lavender say them.)  The price tag made him nauseated. He could start another orphanage with that kind of money, and in fact, he would have to, in order to assuage his conscience after this.    
  
But Lavender had assured him that quality like this was hard to come by, and besides, an overcoat was something he could wear all winter if he pleased (and wouldn't that show Malfoy). A good coat, Lavender argued, brought any outfit up a notch. It was an investment. So it was a downright practical purchase, really.   
  
Lavender helped him pair it with an elegant wine scarf and black leather gloves, ignoring his protestations that those were not, in fact, red. "Harry, look at yourself. How could anyone accuse you of not being festive in a coat like that? I don't care if you're wearing pink pajamas underneath, it screams holiday cheer. Plus," she added with a wink, "you look good enough to eat." She raised her eyebrows approvingly.   
  
Well, that was that.    
  
And now, the day has arrived. He even got a haircut and trimmed his beard for the occasion. He has to admit, he feels like a million galleons in this coat. When he walks through the doors on the first floor of the ministry, he feels more eyes on him than usual, and it's brilliant. For once, they aren't looking at him and seeing his scar, or his heroism or celebrity. Maybe they're just seeing someone attractive wearing an exceptionally flattering coat?    
  
The high starts to fade, however, when he meets Ron in the corridor. Ron's got on his usual December First burgundy jeans and Gryffindor quidditch jumper, complete with a slightly enhanced dye in his already red hair. Harry had hoped Ron might be a little impressed, at least, at the way he's decided to shake things up this year. But his expression says otherwise. It looks more wary and confused than surprised and impressed.   
  
"Did you and Malfoy . . ." he starts, looking as though he'd rather not finish the sentence.   
  
"What the hell does Malfoy have anything to do with--"   
  
Kingsley rounds the corner and smiles a mile wide in his direction.    
  
Well, good, at least  _ someone _ appreciates the trouble he's gone to.    
  
"Harry, did the rest of us miss the memo?" Kingsley booms with a chuckle. "Well done, well done."   
  
Harry shoots a look at Ron. "The fuck is he on about?"   
  
Ron visibly squirms.    
  
Harry decides to forget it for now and get a cup of tea to push back the foul mood rising inside him. He sets off towards the canteen, when he's stopped short by the sight of Malfoy chatting with Robards outside his office.    
  
Because there's Malfoy, in the very same fire engine red, cashmere, double breasted pea coat. (And looking fucking  _ delicious _ in it, to boot.) Robards walks away, leaving Harry to take in the full view.    
  
Malfoy looks up and his mouth drops open. " _ Potter _ ?" He glances down at his own chest, perhaps to see if he's still wearing the coat or if Harry's managed to steal it from him when he wasn't paying attention. It's a solid minute before either of them say anything, and Malfoy finally splutters, "Is this some kind of joke?"    
  
"You tell me," Harry manages. "You're wearing red."   
  
"And you're wearing something that doesn't burn my retinas," Malfoy retorts, "so I'm the one who should be surprised." His eyes rake over Harry. "I can't believe you picked that up on your own. Are you following me? I thought you'd given that up in sixth year."   
  
Harry feels his blood pressure rising. "I did no such thing, you pretentious arse. I bought this coat because I liked it."   
  
"That can't be right."   
  
Harry huffs in indignation. "And why aren't you wearing something green? And less . . . loud?"   
  
"I got bored of that, I suppose," Malfoy sniffs. He strides up the corridor so he's standing directly in front of Harry, and gives him another once over, slowly this time. "It's downright shocking, honestly. You almost look presentable. I'd have left the gloves off though, as you see," he holds up a bare hand. "Those are a bit much," he adds condescendingly.   
  
"Fuck you, Malfoy."    
  
Harry turns on his heel, back towards the exit. He'll get his tea elsewhere this morning.

 

***

 

Draco steps back into his office, trying to sort out his head.    
  
He's endlessly annoyed that the one year he decided to show Potter up and wear something red, Potter had somehow, beyond all reason, found the same bloody coat.   
  
But he's also furious with the way his heart rate, sweat glands, and cock reacted to seeing Potter in said coat. He could've shagged him where he stood.   
  
It's not fair. Potter was supposed to have that reaction to him, not the other way around. Pansy had insisted it was perfect. Draco had hoped it would put an end to Potter's jabs, at the very least. Every year he's had to endure Potter's sneer at his careful way of presenting himself. It's not his fault he was raised with more than a teaspoon of class. He likes dressing well. And maybe it's not daring or rugged or whatever the look is that Potter favours, but it's who he is. He's good at it. And this coat is no exception.   
  
Something has to be done. There have to be some sort of squatter's rights when two people come to the same function wearing the same thing. He got here first, he's quite sure. And he probably bought it first, too. He'll just have to make Potter see reason.    
  
He makes his mind up to get on with his work and correct the matter when Potter gets back from wherever he must have gone to sulk.   
  
Potter returns with an obscenely large hot beverage and Granger beside him, gushing over how he fit he looks, no doubt, though he can't hear what she's actually saying, as they're still a ways off. It's not that he's been waiting,  _ per se _ , he just needs to get this over with so he isn't distracted the rest of the day.  He follows the pair into the break room.   
  
"Potter," he barks.   
  
Potter places his cup on the table and glares back at him while Granger stifles a guffaw. As classless as she is bright, he thinks, annoyed.    
  
"Wow," Granger smirks, shaking her head. "I wouldn't have believed it had I not seen it with my own two eyes."   
  
"That makes two of us," Draco mutters.   
  
"Three," Harry shoots back.   
  
That  _ does _ it.    
  
"Oh, come off it, Potter. If anyone,  _ any fucking one _ in this office had to choose which of us would be more likely to wear a coat like this, who would they choose? Granger, back me up. I know you won't lie."   
  
She shifts uncomfortably. But she can't possibly say Potter. Can she?   
  
"Look, you both look very smart," she says slowly, like she's speaking to two toddlers fighting over a toy. Draco sees a scowl on Potter's face that likely matches his own. "But if I'm honest," she continues, "I don't really think it suits either of you."   
  
_ "What?" _ both of them exclaim.    
  
"Hermione's got a point," Weasley calls from his office.   
  
"Come out here and say that, you wanker," Potter says, betrayal written on his face.   
  
Weasley shuffles in. "It's just that, well, both of you have a point about the other. Harry never wears fancy things--"   
  
"Aha!" Draco says smugly.   
  
"And Draco," Hermione chimes in, "you hardly ever wear bright colours, and you never wear red."   
  
"Ha!" Potter pounces.   
  
"So I think the real question is," Weasley muses aloud, "why did either of you buy a coat you wouldn't ordinarily wear?"   
  
Draco sees a glance pass between Weasley and Granger that he does not like. Not one bit.   
  
For a moment they all stand there until Draco can't take it for another second. "Well. Why did you?" he asks Potter.   
  
Potter scoffs and says, "as if I'd tell you," at the exact same time Weasley offers "to show you up, I'd wager."    
  
Potter looks at Weasley like he's going to murder him slowly. It's rather fetching, actually, especially when it's not directed at him. "Shut up, Ron," Potter responds through gritted teeth. "It's impossible to show him up anyway." And then Potter's face is almost as red as his coat.   
  
Interesting.   
  
"Beg pardon, Potter, what was that?"   
  
"You heard me," he mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You're always so . . .  _ you. _ "   
  
"Right then," Weasley grins like he's seasick and scurries away with Granger, leaving the Draco and Potter alone in the break room.   
  
"So . . . me?" Draco repeats, unconsciously taking a step closer. The blush staining Potter's cheeks is glowing brighter all the time. But he doesn't dare think--    
  
"You know . . ." Potter waves his hand vaguely up and down Draco's body. "Put together."   
  
Draco blinks. Did the world just end or was that a half compliment?   
  
"Fuck, Malfoy, do I need to spell it out?"   
  
"That would help, yes."   
  
Potter throws up his hands. "Fine! You always look good, okay? You just . . .  know how to dress or something. And I don't usually care. But sometimes I do care. And I just thought . . ."   
  
"Are you actually admitting you did this to spite me?" Draco murmurs in disbelief.   
  
"Spite is the wrong word."   
  
"Then which is the right one?"   
  
"Nevermind!" Potter exclaims, raking his fingers through his hair.  _ Fuck _ , Draco loves it when he does that. "Anyway, you never said why you bought the coat."   
  
"Didn't I?" Draco stalls.   
  
"No. You didn't. You never wear red or bright colours. So what gives?"   
  
Draco sighs. He'll never wear red again as long as he lives. "It may have had something to do with you always taking the piss about me dressing properly," he mutters, lifting his chin.   
  
Harry raises his eyebrows. "You care what I think?"   
  
"Of course not," Draco adds quickly. "I only mean I like to prove you wrong."   
  
"Because you  _ don’t _ care what I think."   
  
"Precisely."   
  
It made more sense in his head.   
  
"So . . ." Potter's lip twitches. "You bought this coat to impress me--"   
  
"That is  _ not _ what I--"   
  
"And I bought this coat to impress you."   
  
The stupid bloody coat is suddenly much too warm. He yanks the top two buttons open without thinking. He needs fresh air, damn it. But Potter is . . . Potter is looking at him. Straight at him with those intense green eyes, as if he's daring Draco to contradict him again. But that look has quite the opposite effect. He can't do anything but speak candidly when it's fixed on him.    
  
"I didn't want you think I was boring." 

  
Merlin, he's gone and done it now. He will never live this down.   
  
"Boring?" Harry asks incredulously. "Why would I think you're boring?"   
  
"You've said as much,” Draco sniffs, determined to retain some semblance of pride. “Many times. I don't . . . take risks. I always plan what I wear and how I look. I just wanted to make you think . . ." he stops talking when he sees Potter shaking his head.   
  
"Malfoy. You are a lot of things. But boring isn't one of them. For fuck's sake, I just finished saying how you always look  _ good _ . Or was your head too far up your arse to hear that?"    
  
Draco stops. Potter did say that, didn't he? "Might've been," he replies. "Could you repeat it once more?"   
  
"Seriously."   
  
"If you don't mind." Draco dares to smile.   
  
Potter takes another step towards him and holds his gaze. "You always look good, Malfoy. It makes me want to do better on that score, alright? Satisfied?"   
  
Oh, not nearly.   
  
"Well?" Potter asks, cheeks reddening again. "Aren't you going to say something nice back?"   
  
Draco considers the options for a moment and takes a step towards him. In for a knut, in for a galleon.    
  
"Potter," he drawls, still unsure of what he'll say next. "You look good in that coat."   
  
Potter's face splits into a wide grin. "Yeah?"   
  
"--But you'd look better out of it."      
  
A pause.    
  
"Oh." Potter chews his lip.  _ Merlin. _   
  
"Is it hot in here or . . .?" Draco swallows and clears his throat.   
  
"Yeah, it's really fucking hot in here." Harry slides his fingers through the buttons of his coat and lets it fall off his shoulders, onto the floor.    
  
Draco throws a hand out to lock the break room door. "I don't really like this coat anyway."   
  
"Me neither," Potter says breathlessly, pulling it off of Draco now. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, but are we also wearing the same trousers?"   
  
Draco laughs. "Nice try. Mine have pinstripes and yours-- _ oh _ ."   
  
***   
  
Hermione casts a  _ Muffliato _ charm and holds a  hand out to Ron, who reluctantly places twenty galleons and a bottle of fire whiskey in her palm, just as Lavender and Pansy stroll through the doors.    
  
"Granger, I believe half of that belongs to us," Pansy smirks.   
  
"Fair's fair," Hermione says with a grin. "Shall we enjoy the spoils in my office? I believe the break room is occupied." 

  
  
***  _ Fin *** _


End file.
